A Tear Apart

              The rocks crunch beneath my feet as gentle waves tap the shore.  My hand picks up a shell, white and black.  Once it held a muscle, and now it holds my attention. I wonder about the animal’s life, not knowing much about his type, her type. Do muscles come in male and female?  I admit to not knowing much about nature.  The trees laugh when the wind whispers this to them.

Tossing the muscle into the lake causes it to make a plop sound, small, almost indistinguishable from the noise of the animals around, of the lake in front of me, by the sky above me. 

Clouds pass by, and I think of their shapes, types of temporary constellations, I reason.  They come and go as does all life in the lake.  The fish swim underneath my gaze, a few of the braver minnows dare me to try to grab them. Their slick skin would ooze onto me faster than I could use my wits to surpass the fish’s body.  

Nature gives the world an abundance of creatures and creations, not all cute, not all fair.  I think of the giant catfish by the dam and shutter.  My grandpa told me this, and grandpa never lies.

The color of the water in the lake is tinged with green algae, mud, and other elements of mystery, stirred in a pot akin to a witch’s brew.  After I walk a few feet out to where the gars reside, I look down, unable to see much of my pale legs.  A fish here and a fish there nimble at the hair on my legs.  As a child, I’d cling to my grandpa when we swam, his legs covered with freckles and age spots.  He laughed with his small blue eyes, a chunk of ear missing due to cancer, and the whitest teeth an older person could hold, totally fake, of course.   

My grandpa passed in 2012 after a long life blessed with friends and family.  Up until the very end of his life, he could surpass me at arm wrestling.  I said I was going to beat him one day when he wrinkled like a tree’s bark and grew feeble.  I still lost.  This caused him great joy along with grandma.  As he lay on his deathbed, he told everyone what a wonderful wife he found and how they stayed together through all trials and troubles without fighting and fussing, carrying on, or being selfish.  My grandpa and grandma helped as many people as they could, always thinking of others before themselves.  

I look into the lake and see a rippled face go up and down.  Their faces don’t live in mine, as my father and his brother were adopted.  I feel the love of my grandparents in my heart, which rings truer than a false impression of love.

A fish jumps out of the water ahead of me, I turn my gaze and only see a ripple in the water.  I glance down at my arms, sunburned, and head up the hill by my apartment complex for some aloe.  

Released from my memory, I walk father and father away from the pond, sad and feeling lost in the present.  I cry a green, murky tear, reminding me of what is part of me, forever, I will love.